


fever sweet

by taonsils (mirokkuma)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Emetophobia, M/M, OT3, fluffiest fluff, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 16:54:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3216518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirokkuma/pseuds/taonsils
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sehunnie will be here soon," Junmyeon promises. No one pays attention to the way Zitao's features soften when Junmyeon's thumb traces his jaw, so he does it twice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fever sweet

**Author's Note:**

> This is ~~Cat's fault~~ for Cat, for ~~crying over~~ encouraging me to expand on my rambling in tags. Set 150115 (aka the day Tao didn't land his flip)
> 
> (I just want Tao to feel better and also lots of cuddles  
> I write so much sleepy fluff I'm sorry （ﾉ´д｀); )

Zitao is on strict orders not to even attempt tonight's after party, not even out of obligation, not out of respect or politeness. And on principle Zitao would normally disagree entirely and go, but it was Junmyeon that insisted he didn't. Junmyeon that helps Zitao along to the dressing room and has a strong enough perception of Zitao's body language to hurry them back down the corridor and drag him a sharp left into the bathrooms before he can vomit on anything they'd have to pay for.  
  
  
"This is why you should listen to me," Junmyeon stresses, pressed small and tight into the stall to give Zitao the little space available. "You're going back to the hotel as soon as you've changed. Or back to the hospital."  
  
Zitao groans, spits. The last thing he wants right now is a lecture (well, the last thing aside from feeling like death and having slipped on stage). "Not hospital."  
  
"Tao," Junmyeon starts, sharper than he means to, but Zitao's shoulders lurching again disrupts the thought anyway. He's pretty sure that Zitao throwing up a second time should further the cause of sending him back, but arguing with him like this is a little beyond Junmyeon. Upsetting him isn't going to make it easier for anyone. "No, ok," Junmyeon concedes, softer, and crouches down beside Zitao. "Let's just get you back to the hotel."  
  
It's only with Junmyeon down here too that Zitao is suddenly aware of their stage outfits, transported and maintained with such care and now scraping the tiled floor. Zitao hopes he hasn't absently wiped his mouth on his sleeve, but he feels too heavy and shaky to lift his arm to look. This is the worst. "Don't want to." Worse would be feeling like this alone, though. Junmyeon here with a bottle of water and a strong, warm hand rubbing reassuringly at his nape is infinitely better than the comfort of a hotel room alone.  
  
"I have to stay, but Sehun can go with you. Ok?" Zitao's eyeliner is smudged, black and wet under his eyes. They lighten a little at the suggestion. "I'll make excuses for you both if you'll just—" Junmyeon hears his own voice raising and quickly swallows it back to softness. "You have to rest. Properly. You've done everything you need."  
  
Until tomorrow morning when they have to rehearse again, at least. Junmyeon has places to be, as does Sehun, (as does Zitao,) but Sehun's absences are easier missed.  
  
  
Zitao rinses his mouth and then slots between the sinks, resting his weight back on the wall, eyes shut against the harsh lighting. It feels cooler here with the mirror behind his shoulders, and he'd stay if Junmyeon wasn't always a better option. Junmyeon carefully pressing in closer is still real however dull and fuzzy everything else feels.  
  
"Come here," Junmyeon combs Zitao's hair up away from his eyes, "érzi, come here," encourages him down and presses a kiss to his forehead. He's burning up, damp with cold sweat. "It's ok, you'll be back at the hotel really soon."  
  
Zitao swallows around the knot in his throat. This wasn't how he'd envisaged their being reunited after the Europe trips. He's already spent the first day more in the company of nurses and staff than who he needs to be with, and he hadn't planned for the second to be just as unsuccessful. "But we were all apart for like two months," he whines softly, "I wanna— We need to spend time together."  
  
Zitao's fever is clearly flaring back up and he still looks queasy, so Junmyeon sees best not to argue the semantics of standard time and Tao-time. "We will, Taozi, soon." His smile turns a little tight as he easily swerves a kiss, pressing one to Zitao's jaw in apology. Zitao still makes a pleased little sound, until Junmyeon tries to ease him away from the wall. "Can you walk for me? Do you feel ok to go get changed?"  
  
No, Zitao insisted, but arms tight around shoulders they do slowly make it back to the dressing room. Staff take over where Junmyeon would still be helping were they at home, but they aren't, and he's needed elsewhere.  
  
"Sehunnie will be here soon," Junmyeon promises. No one pays attention to the way Zitao's features soften when Junmyeon's thumb traces his jaw, so he does it twice.

˘

  
Zitao doesn't remember much of the journey back to the hotel. He remembers the changes from cold to stuffy, Sehun's arm across his waist and hand steady at his thigh as the car rocks and jolts them and he feels way, way too nauseous for that. He's not going to make it to the hotel, Zitao is desperately sure of the fact, but all of a sudden they have.  
  
  
Sehun's care is a little different to Junmyeon's, but it still involves a bottle of water in Zitao's view. Zitao feeling a lot smaller than he is curled up on the bed. He said it hurts too much, having his clothing touched, so Sehun dumped him there fully dressed while he changed his own.  
  
"Hun— Hun, careful." Zitao didn't ache down to his bones when Sehun had come to collect him. His skin didn't feel too tight and like finally, finally having a moment alone to be unguarded under the hands of someone he loves would hurt like this. "Carefully," he says again, although Sehun listened the first time, and he's really trying not to hurt Zitao in the process of slipping in beside him.  
  
"I thought you'd want.." Sehun is uncertain of putting his hands anywhere. He's missed this, too, but Zitao would be loud and dramatic if he didn't feel as bad as he looks. "Is it your fever? We can just lie next to each other if it hurts."  
  
Zitao shakes his head but it doesn't move much. So his neck is stiff and aching too, wonderful. "umma didn't let you leave early just to— no, you're supposed to.. The bed hurts too, you can't be any worse."  
  
Zitao says more, but somewhere along the way seems to forget he needs to use words to do so. Sehun does his best to interpret the sounds, and as Zitao makes no physical protest to being hauled up to rest on Sehun's chest he can't be too far off.  
  
"Don't puke on me, ok?" Sehun says as Zitao attempts to make himself comfortable, which involves knees and ribs and chin all making Sehun less than comfortable himself.  
  
"You're supposed to love all of me." Zitao kind of wants to cry, but it feels like too much effort.  
  
  
The difference if he'd gone to the hospital, Zitao tells Sehun in a quiet, hoarse whisper, is just that he'd be put on a drip. He'd still be lying in a bed, but the lights would be brighter. Everything smells sharp and unwelcoming in hospitals, and Zitao sleeps on his side with his face pressed into the pillow, trying to pretend there isn't so much activity in the background. "This is better for me," he says. Better to unwind and be quiet, to feel small and safe with Sehun solid against him, large hand firm on his back.  
  
Sehun tuts, but it doesn't stop him from dropping soft kisses into Zitao's hair. "You're a moron," he says, and Zitao isn't wiggling in protest to that but because it sounds warm. Sehun is warm. Zitao is far, far too hot as it is, but unfamiliar spaces don't seem so bad when it's like this. Being so sick still feels fucking awful, but at least his heart is happy. Zitao thought he'd told Sehun so, but Sehun says, "You're mumbling again," and there's another press of lips to his fluffy hair.  
  
  
Zitao drifts for a while. Awake enough to know his nose is pressed into Sehun's collarbone, to feel fingertips working through his hair. Sehun's left arm is entirely numb after twenty minutes, but Zitao isn't awake enough for the expressions that accompany that. "Is this ok?" he asks in one of his more lucid moments. Sehun's mouth pulls down at an angle as he tries to meet Zitao's gaze without moving his head.  
  
"Yeah. It's night time, we're in bed." Sehun shrugs his free shoulder. Zitao looks unconvinced. Barely awake, but unconvinced. "There's nothing we need to be doing, it's bedtime."  
  
Zitao considers that for a long, long moment in which he possibly, briefly slips back into sleep. He breathes harsh through his nose before countering, "But umma isn't here."  
  
Sehun yawns so widely it brings moisture to his eyes. "Hyung's still busy. He'll be here too when he's not."  
  
"Ah," Zitao says with great understanding. His skin aches less now, just feels cold under his clothes. Shivering helps, because Sehun is obliging with his warm hands. Zitao has to go away again in a few days — for schedules, for things he very much wants to do, but right now they're together, and that matters more than knowing they'll be apart again. "Didn't you want to stay and celebrate too?"  
  
"Nah." Sehun squeezes at Zitao's hip. "Tired. And the company's not bad here."  
  
Zitao still feels a little like Sehun isn't totally out of danger in regards to if he could throw up again. He's gravelly, clammy, damp. "That's right," he says into Sehun's shoulder, careful to form words this time. "I'm— really good company."  
  
"Yeah." Sehun's left arm is still dead. Zitao is a lot more considerate of others comfort when he's more boyfriend than fever; the little cough he muffles against Sehun's shirt is so pathetic that he doesn't have the heart to ask Zitao if he feels able to move. "This is a pretty good date." Based on the requirements of them being together, alone, in a bed, it's the best date they've had since the start of the year.  
  
"You're welcome," Zitao croaks without a hint of sarcasm, and Sehun kisses over his forehead with only one, quiet complaint about how gross it is.


End file.
